Chapter 1

We had jumped off from the western side of the Panama Canal and were 8 days into the passage to the Marquesas. It was a beautiful day, the wind was running on a comfortable beam reach. The sun was shining brightly and the seas were relatively calm — only a little bounce now and then. Not too bad for me, but hell on Holly. She was tied to the mast. Arms stretched above her head by a special halyard I had installed. Not to hoist sails but slaves. Her waist was loosely secured to the mast so she didn't move around too much. But she was on her knees, so every bounce the boat took, she had to hurt. Yet, the site of her bare breasts bouncing each time was very entertaining — to me. Her feet were pulled to the other side of the mast and bound.

I'm not intentionally cruel to my slaves, but she had screwed up in the Galley last night and was now paying for her sins. An entire day on the mast. It did include a break every 4 hours (8 bells) for getting some life back in her limbs plus water and food. Oh, and a spanking across my knee. Delicious.

I had started out from Fort Lauderdale and was headed around the world. A 57 foot catamaran named "Blue River Two." Large and comfortable, yet fast and agile. I could have handled it by myself, but the addition of three young female slaves made the trip most interesting. It had taken 6 months to process all the applications of submissives interested in taking the trip, Finding three that fit my particular tastes and desires wasn't that hard. Finding three that could also sail, that's what took so long.

Shipboard life had settled into a comfortable set of routines. Each had training they needed to complete, studies they wanted to pursue, we had tons of duties to attend to each day, but it still left me plenty of time to pursue my own research and writing — plus playtime several times a day.

So far, I had not needed to issue such severe punishment as Holly was experiencing at the moment. Yet her bad cooking had started her down her path. But it was the failure to turn off the propane valves, which put us all in danger, is the reason for the severe nature of being stretched all day, spanked every four hours, buggered without lubrication other than her own spit, and the severe whipping that would end the session tonight. To those not sailors, propane is the death of many boats when not properly handled. She had endangered us all.

Andrea and Terry went about their daytime duties with grace, trying to ignore (and failing) Holly and her plight. The mood on the boat that day was not good. Everyone, including Holly, realized the danger she had subjected us to. Yet, each knew that they might screw up at any time and suffer a similar fate. I was going to have to take Holly off watch and other duties for the next few days so she could recover. The sunburn alone was going to be bad, but the stress to her body was going to make her hurt for a long time.

I was "at the helm" at the moment. Yet, with the autopilot, there was very little to do, other than the hourly navigation and log update — and the ever constant scan of the boat, the water, and the skies for signs of problems. We had GPS and computer plotters and such. Yet, I still took Noon and Midnight sightings with a sextant, did the reductions by hand (with the reduction tables — I'm not a complete whiz), and kept a dead reckoning track on the paper charts. The log entries were automatically uploaded to my personal website. The general stuff available to all visitors to the site. The special notes on training, punishments, and such — with photos and videos — was only available to a select few of my inner circle. They also had access to a set of web cameras around the boat, including two focused on poor Holly.

Bam. We took another wave into the side of the boat. I looked up just in time to see a delightful bounce of Holly's tits and the pain in her face when her knees slammed back into the deck. This is the first time I had had to be this extreme. Normally, time "at the mast" was standing, stretched out, lashed at the waist and feet. It was a lovely site to have all three that way.

Looking back into the cockpit, Andrea was on her hands and knees scrubbing the deck. Oh, the constant maintenance of a slave ship. She was facing away from me at the moment, her full ass waving back and forth as she scrubbed. I watched for a few minutes and felt myself harden. She's a beautiful 23 year old brunette with a killer figure. Large, lush breasts that do not flatten out, no matter the position I put her in. I can't stand it any more, watching her work. I grab a few pieces of rope (always an reason to have rope laying around a sailboat) and move towards her. Before she notices me, I am over her, pull her arms back, forcing her head to the deck, and quickly bind her hands behind her back.